Collide
by princessozmaofoz
Summary: In moments of uncertainty, Hathaway and Innocent collide.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: This fic will consist of three main timeframes- the end of series 7 (during the case shown in "Intelligent Design"), Hathaway's return from abroad, and decision to return to the police, and the period between S8 and S9 during which Innocent presumably leaves the station. I was originally going to post each part/timeframe as one chapter, but as I am notoriously impatient, that did not really work out. However, I will clearly indicate a switch in time.)_

 _As I don't really trust the showrunners where Jean is concerned, this will almost assuredly end up being non-compliant with Series 9. And as it' somewhat lengthy, the next series may have aired by the time its finished, so I apologize in advance. Rating is T for now, but let me know if you think it needs to be changed. I also hate the title but am having trouble coming up with a better one at this point in time, so it may change. (Also, I'll be away for the next week, so the next chapter won't be for a little while)_

 **Part One: The Richard Seagar Case ("Intelligent Design")**

Jean Innocent started slightly when she heard the knock at her front door. Even before her husband had officially moved out two days ago, he had seldom spent much time at their flat. As a result, Jean had become accustomed to living in near silence. For the most part, she barely noticed the quiet, as the clamor in her mind largely overpowered any background noises. But when her mind was as bereft as it was now, the rare unexpected sound was deafening.

She glanced at the mantel clock, one of the few nice pieces Roger hadn't tried to take with him. At a quarter-past eleven, it was far later than she'd realized. (Wasn't it strange how time simultaneous dragged and raced when life was all-but-empty?) It was rather late—too late even for that very persistent Jehovah's Witness who'd been harassing Jean for weeks.

Still, if someone was calling at this hour, it must be important. Innocent put down the book she'd been idly perusing, rose to her feet and re-tied her lilac silk dressing gown. For a moment, Jean let herself believe that it was her husband at the door—that Roger had finally realized what an idiot he'd been and had come to grovel miserably at her feet. Depending on the eloquence and sincerity of his apology, she may even deign to forgive him… _eventually_.

She shook herself out of this foolish daydream. Even if it was Roger, he was likely only here to get more things he'd left behind. Well, he could have them, could even have the clothes off her back for all Jean cared, so long as he promised to bugger off for good this time.

But when she opened the door, her soon-to-be ex-husband wasn't the one waiting on her doorstop. It was James Hathaway, and he looked more lost than Jean had ever seen him.

Innocent's eyebrows rose slightly at seeing him, and Hathaway wondered if Jean found it creepy that he knew where she lived. He himself was a little surprised that he'd remembered. A few months ago, he'd given her a lift to-and-from work, while her car was being serviced. Though it wasn't a particularly difficult street to find, James had assumed he'd forgotten the way. And so he had—until he had needed a place to go and found he could recall every turn perfectly.

Hathaway had known he shouldn't be on his own tonight. Not while he was feeling as hollow as he did now. Not while guilt was still gnawing at the miniscule part of him that could still feel. He briefly thought about going the pub, surrounding himself with other strangers who would be drowning their own sorrows. Just being around other people might be enough to keep him from falling over the precipice. But he knew that alcohol would make him more volatile—more likely to do something he'd regret. He had already had far too many close calls—far too many moments when the only things keeping him alive were cowardice and surety of Hell. These moments had always been far from uncommon, but they'd only increased in recent years.

He used to go to Lewis's when he felt particularly useless and unstable. But ever since the inspector had started seeing Dr. Hobson, Hathaway couldn't help but feel awkward around the pair of them. It wasn't because Hobson or Lewis was overly fond of embarrassing public-displays of affection. Nor was there much truth in the latest station rumor—that James was inconsolable at thought of losing Robbie to Laura. Or at least, he wasn't inconsolable in the way that people thought.

It was simply that—damn it—they were so happy, and he didn't want to risk jeopardizing that.

Besides which, going to his inspector now would prove an ineffective treatment for Hathaway's ailment. Moreover, James was starting to think that genuine happiness—apart from a few scattered moments— was simply unattainable for someone like him. And he simply couldn't risk dragging his mentor down with him.

But if he couldn't be alone tonight, and if he couldn't be with Lewis or Hobson, then where could he go? James still wasn't sure how or why, but his mind had suddenly landed on Jean. He kept turning over what he'd overheard her saying to Robbie—about not looking forward to going home at night. He recalled the station gossip that her husband was leaving her for someone else. He suddenly realized that she'd been looking tired, wan, and disheveled for several months now, and he cursed himself for not noticing earlier. If anyone understood how defeated and exhausted Hathaway was now, it would be Jean. At the very least, he doubted there was any way they could make each other feel any worse about their situation.

Hathaway was so lost in his own thoughts that he did not immediately realize that Innocent had spoken. "It's rather late, James. Are you okay? Is everything alright?"

" I… didn't know where else to go." Hathaway suspected that Innocent already knew what he meant, what he wasn't saying. Everyone at the station knew that Hathaway wasn't taking Adam Tibbit's suicide well, even if only a handful of people knew that James felt personally responsible for it.

Jean nodded her understanding. Lewis had voiced his concerns about Hathaway's response to that poor boy's death. Ideally, James probably would have preferred to talk to Robbie under ordinary circumstances, but ever since the inspector and Doctor Hobson had started seeing each other, Hathaway had seemed awkward around his former inspector. Innocent still wasn't exactly sure why this was, but she hoped her boys would work things out between them soon. They relied on each other far too much.

James suddenly noticed that Innocent was wearing a rather flimsy dressing gown over a matching (and equally flimsy) nightdress. In some strange way, the outfit made her look…well _different_ —for lack of a better word _._ More vulnerable. More feminine. Simultaneously more approachable and more distant. He was suddenly aware of just how much he had violated her privacy and felt his cheeks flush with shame. "I…I'm sorry. I dunno what I was thinking. I should go."

"No, no. Come inside."


	2. Chapter 2

Innocent wrinkled her nose in distaste at the state of her living room, as she gestured for Hathaway to sit down. "I apologize for the mess. "My soon-to-be ex-husband moved out a few days ago, and with everything at work, I haven't had the time to straighten up." _Nor the inclination_.

As he took a tentative seat on the armchair across from the sofa, Hathaway glanced around, wondering where this so-called "mess" was supposed to be. Apart from a few day-old newspapers littering the coffee table and three haphazardly-arranged throw pillows on the sofa, the room was immaculate and exactly how he might have imagined Jean Innocent's flat would look. Simple but elegant with a dark green sofa and matching armchair, dark hardwood flooring, and ivory walls.

"Can I offer you something to drink? I could put a kettle on or make us some coffee?" At Hathaway's non-committal shrug, Innocent thought of something else. "Though I have a feeling, we could both use something stronger."

"Yes, ma'am."

" I think I managed to squirrel away some Chianti from my husband's prying hands. I'll be right back."

Sure enough, the wine was just where Jean thought it would be—hidden under the kitchen sink in a box marked "cleaning supplies," because her slob of a husband was unlikely to look there.

Innocent uncorked the bottle and set to work looking for the wine glasses. As she opened the kitchen cabinet, she suddenly remembered that Roger—the _bastard_ —had taken the greater part of their shared glassware when he'd officially moved out two days ago. (Never mind that the set had been a wedding present from _her_ aunt.) All that was left in the cabinet were a few teacups, coffee mugs, and measuring cups. She gave James the nicest of the mugs—and settled for a red polka-dotted mug with a hairline crack at the top. It was a cup that—like Jean herself—had seen far better days.

Innocent returned to the living room, handed Hathaway his mug, and settled with her own on the sofa. They sipped their wine in silence for quite some time, but eventually, the quiet got to be unbearable for Jean. She knew how much James must be hurting inside—probably even more than she herself was. "Do you…do you want to talk?"

Hathaway exhaled sharply but gave no response, and Innocent did not press him any further on that front. Instead, she tried a different approach after another overlong silence had passed. "You know, that chair you're sitting on always used to give Roger the most terrible backaches. You'll be far better off sitting on the sofa. There's plenty of room, and I promise I don't bite… _much_."

James gave a polite half-smile at the chief superintendent's feeble attempt at a joke and made to follow her advice. Unfortunately, he moved too quickly, and as he sat down, several droplets of wine splashed up and onto Innocent's lap.

Jean swiftly rose to her feet as Hathaway swore under his breath before all-but-falling-over himself apologizing. "It's _fine,_ James. See, none of it's gotten on the sofa. " The same could not be said for her dressing gown, which she swiftly untied and removed.

"And as for the dressing gown, well…it's probably for the best. Roger gave it to me on...our last anniversary." She cursed, as the tears start to spring in her eyes. She suddenly realized that this was the first time she'd properly cried, since it had all ended.

Hathaway immediately engulfed her into something that was probably supposed to be an embrace but was complicated by the fact that he was reluctant to actually touch her. Certainly not while he could see clearly the outlines of her breasts underneath that thin nightdress.

Conscious of James's discomfort, Jean swiftly pulled away from the not-quite-hug. "Thank you, James."

Hathaway gave a curt nod and quickly looked away. "Ma'am, I was about to say that I think I can save it. The robe, I mean. I think I could maybe get the stains out. If you want. It's lovely, and it looks nice on you.…I just…it seems so stupid to let bad memories ruin it for you."

Innocent raised her eyebrows in interest. "Do you really think so? I've never been able to get red wine out of silk."

" Sometimes, when I was at the seminary, I was assigned to launder the priest's vestments before Sunday Mass. You'd be surprised how many times a stole falls into the wine chalice and comes out with stains far worse than these—particularly if one is as tall as Fr. Bernard."

"Well, I'll take you at your word. And it's worth a try at least."

"You wouldn't happen to have dishwashing liquid, vinegar, and rubbing alcohol, would you?"

She smiled, and nodded.

…

After Hathaway had saved her dressing gown from the rubbish bin, Innocent had stood on her tiptoes and pulled his head down to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek, and he had the misfortune to turn his head ever-so-slightly, causing her to catch the edge of his lips instead. As she tried to move away, he pulled her back to him, readjusting his head so he could kiss her properly. Their lips did not so much meet as collide, their teeth and tongues crashing against each other. The difference in their heights soon proved to be a problem, and he lifted her up, positioning her so that she was half-sitting, half-leaning against the kitchen counter. This also provided him with better access to her thighs.

Jean had moved first, nibbling James's lower lip slightly as she came up for air. "Are you sure about this?"

In truth, he wasn't at all sure about any of this. If he had paused for even a moment to consider it, he would have left Innocent's flat at once, depression and suicidal urges be damned. But all he could think about at that moment was that he'd felt more human in that moment than he'd felt in months. Whether he was sure of this or not, he needed it.

When James voiced this thought aloud, Jean remarked that she had been thinking the exact same thing. He took that as their cue to progress into the bedroom.

He never would have suspected that his body would respond in quite this way. From what he had heard, the opposite effect was far more likely. If he felt catatonically impotent in nearly all other aspects of his life, shouldn't he be similarly unresponsive sexually? And yet, he could not recall ever feeling quite so physically virile.

Though he indulged his sexual desires far less often than most of his peers, he was no stranger to carnal urges. He'd had dreams, thoughts, feelings that made his former seminary student blush with shame, even as they'd left him stirred in every way imaginable. On some instances, he'd even acted on these urges with the occasional woman or even more occasional man occasionally venturing into his bed-with both parties typically coming out reasonably satisfied by the experience.

And yet, he'd never before felt lust in quite the way he was feeling it now. Perhaps because, when it really came down to it, this wasn't lust at all. It was pure senseless, animal instinct-violent, ravenous, _desperate_.

What was more, he had the sense that Jean shared this rough, bestial instinct and that she needed this just as much as he. There was something no less desperate, no less _savage_ about the way she was clutching him back, about the breakneck roughness of her hips beneath him.

It seemed that they were both rushing to find _something_. Not pleasure. Not when there was something so therapeutic about the painful trails her long fingernails were mapping on his back-each one a stinging verification that he was still alive and aware.

But though he was not searching for anything as concrete as pleasure, nor was he pursuing pain-his own or Jean's alike. He was neither a sadist nor a masochist, and he knew that any satisfaction, brought by Jean's scratches or his own rough thrusts, was psychologically rather than sexually gratifying.

No, this was not about pleasure or pain or pleasure-in-pain. This wasn't even about release-sexual or otherwise. He knew the moment would come and fade far too fast for him to get any real satisfaction from it, and feeling as he did, he wasn't even entirely sure he'd be able to recognize that moment when and if it finally came.

All he knew was that he was doing this in the hopes of somehow proving that he was still able to do anything at all. That he was still able to perceive pleasure, pain, and release. That he was more than the emptiness he felt inside.

Though he knew just how much he would hate himself in the morning, he couldn't stop himself from chasing what could very well be the last remnant of his humanity.

Just as he'd known, it ended far too quickly-one tantalizing moment of clarity, power, even a hint of pleasure before he was left feeling more hollow than before. Even after he'd gone slack, he remained inside her for some time-not out of exhaustion or lingering lust, but rather out of a need to stay connected to something-physically as well as emotionally. The feel of her surrounding him provided him with a much needed reminder that he was still able to feel, experience, connect at the most basic sensory level.

Jean let him stay like this for a while, clearly craving the prolonged physical connection just as much as James. Perhaps, she was chasing a memory of times she had lain like this with her own husband, or perhaps she-like Hathaway-nearly needed the sensory affirmation that she wasn't alone.

However, she eventually began to feel trapped under his weight and discreetly indicated her discomfort. Hathaway immediately caught the hint and rolled off of her. He was suddenly and acutely reminded of how rough and senseless he had been with her. Her flimsy nightdress was practically in tatters on the floor, but he was really concerned with any physical damage that he'd done. He'd left a fair few bite marks on her neck and breasts-some of them a bit more than shallow-, but what really worried him were the deep imprints his hands had left on various places of her body-the places where he'd held her too tightly, treated her too roughly. He felt almost sick as he thought about the bruises she'd have in the morning.

Worse, he could feel his body starting to demand an encore of their copulation, and he knew that this would only be another opportunity for him to cause her more pain. And when it was over, he would feel just as empty as he did now.

So, he did the only thing he could do, before he pounced on her again. He got out of bed and went off in search of the shower.

After taking a moment to figure out how the taps worked, he ensured that the water was cold enough before stepping inside. He had used this same technique often enough while studying for the priesthood, particularly when his unclean thoughts turned to one of his fellow seminarians. As he'd known it would, the frigid water swiftly cooled his ardor, but not without great pain. The deep scratches that Jean had left seared his back like a brand, and even in his agony, he knew that he deserved it—relishing at the thought of sharing some of the pain he'd surely given her. His body started shaking uncontrollably, and he felt tears spring in his eyes. Once he allowed himself to start crying, he found that he could not stop. He was not sure how long he remained there, sobbing unceasingly inside Jean Innocent's shower, but it seemed an eternity. Eventually, his tears slowed enough for him to see clearly again, and he turned off the water.

When he returned to the room, he noticed Jean lying very still in the bed. If he were to guess, he'd imagine she was pretending to be asleep, so that she did not have to face him again. He swiftly changed into his clothes and left.


	3. Chapter 3

_Three Days Later_

At Hathaway's knock, Innocent raised her eyes from the massive pile of paperwork on her desk and saw the lanky sergeant leaning in the frame of her open door. "Ah, James. " She capped her pen and rose to her feet. "Do come in; sit down."

"Ma'am." He avoided her gaze as he took the indicated seat, acutely aware of the fact that this was the first time he had been alone with her since what had transpired between them.

Though Jean was surely just as uncomfortable as James, she did not let the awkward situation diminish her professionalism. She resumed her seat and immediately began presenting her argument. "I'm sure Inspector Lewis told you by now that he's thinking quite seriously about retiring, and while we will miss him, it may be time for him to move on with the rest of his life. Now, Robbie and I both agree that you are our first choice for the vacant inspector's position, provided of course, that you take and pass your OSPRE examinations before the end of the quarter…"

As Innocent gestured demonstratively, the sleeve of her jacket shifted slightly, and Hathaway saw a purplish bruise on her forearm. He seized her wrist and pulled her sleeve up further. "Did I do that?"

The bites on Innocent's neck had all-but-disappeared completely through the use of cosmetics, but she had assumed that carefully chosen clothing would cover most of her other injuries. She made a mental note to remedy the situation as soon as possible. "It's fine, James."

He suddenly felt an odd churning sensation in his stomach at hearing his Christian name from her. The harmless, inconsequential gesture brought back sounds, images he would rather forget—sensations he did not remember experiencing due to his numbness at the time. He instinctively ran his fingers along the bruise, hating himself for putting it there. "No, it's _not_ fine." He released her hand and moved to the window.

Jean tilted her head, considering him. James was so mature and melancholy and brooding that she often forgot that he was still quite young. There was something very innocent about his fears, something that suggested he had very little experience with this sort of thing. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been with someone who'd expressed such concern for any marks he'd left on her-let alone marks as relatively inconsequential as these. She moved over to him and put a reassuring arm on his shoulder. "I've had far far worse."

Hathaway turned sharply to face her. Jean thought she saw a momentary flash of fury on his face that thrilled and terrified her in equal measure. "That is to say...I didn't mean. Roge-" Jean couldn't even will her lips to form the name "Well, _my husband_ favored a rather...physically intense approach. But everything...it was all...He never…"

She stopped herself before she could say "hurt me," for she knew that wasn't entirely true. Pain wasn't just physical after all, and she hurt now in ways that she'd never dreamed possible.

And even physically, her husband had left his fair share of marks upon her, even if they had been consensual. Well, largely consensual. He'd come dangerously close to the line a fair few times, but he'd never actually crossed it. At least not in _that_ way.

This line of conversation made her profoundly uncomfortable, so she shook herself and changed the subject. "Anyway, as I was saying, you'll want to take your OSPRE examinations as soon as you can. I can't imagine you're having any trouble with them, but I would be happy to help you in any way I can…"

"I'm not here to talk about promotion. I don't want it, and even if I did, I don't deserve it." He saw that she was about to object. "No, don't…please. I don't want to hear another word about it."

Jean took a deep breath and swallowed the protest that had immediately come to her lips. She looked at him for a long moment before asking the obvious question—one to which she was not at all sure she wanted to hear an answer. "Then, why…?"

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to her. "To give you this."

Innocent tore the envelope open without any of her customary neatness. She withdrew the letter from inside and skimmed the first three lines several times, before glancing up. Her eyebrows furrowed, first in confusion and then in disappointment. "James, is this…"

"My letter of resignation? Yeah, I would have thought that was obvious."

An uncomfortably long silence transpired before Innocent finally ended it. She cleared her throat and broached the subject they had both been carefully avoiding. "James...if this is about what happened the other night…"

His reply was so automatic that it made her flinch. "It isn't."

Innocent was still unconvinced. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. This isn't about you or about what happened that night."

But it _was_ , though not in the way Jean thought.

True, James had known he had to leave the force even before what had transpired between them. But now, he knew more than ever that he needed to get away from Oxford, from the police, from the people he cared about.

His contributing role in Adam Tibbit's suicide was reason enough to resign, but Hathaway had nevertheless managed to find ways to -if not excuse his actions-to at least understand them. Though he should have anticipated Adam's possible response regardless, he had not known the boy very well, and none of Adam's previous behavior had suggested that he was so unstable.

But he could think of no adequate explanation or justification for what he'd done with Innocent. Even he'd acted out of genuine attraction, he still would have been ravaged with guilt over committing adultery. But he hadn't desired Jean specifically, hadn't even desired sex itself, when it came to it.

All he had really wanted was to stop the numbness for a moment. All he had really wanted was to briefly feel human again, even though he did not deserve to feel that way. And in order to so, he had _used_ someone he cared about in order to feel better about himself. He had reduced a remarkable human being to the feeling of blood coursing hotly through his veins, to slick sweat on his skin, to his mind clearing and brightening for a fraction of a second before plunging back into darkness.

And even more terrifying was the thought that he had done this-not to a stranger or even an acquaintance-but to a colleague and a friend. Someone he respected as a boss and person alike. Someone with vulnerabilities and need of her own which he'd all-but-ignored.

Someone who he'd treated roughly, carelessly as he indulged himself.

He had just enough self-respect to doubt that he would hurt her again in exactly that way, but even he could not be completely sure. Moreover, he could imagine countless other ways he could use and harm those he cared about. What if it was Lewis next time? Or Hobson? What if he got to the point where he could no longer control his fear and his anger, and he did something drastic as a result? No, he needed to get away from Oxford, away from the police, away from those he might hurt—Jean Innocent among them.

Jean bit her lip and blew out air through it, a not-uncommon gesture of frustration. Finally, she went with her initial instinct. "Then, you've left me with no other choice. I refuse to accept your resignation. Not now at least. Not in this way."

She told herself that she was only trying to stop a very promising career from derailing prematurely, but she knew there was a far more selfish motivation to it than that. This job was perhaps the one thing in her life that was keeping her from going completely mad, providing the stability, predictability, and reliability necessary to counterbalance her own personal turmoil. And James was crucial to maintaining that stability.

Not only was he a brilliantly talented officer in his own right, he was also one of the few real allies she had. So many of her fellow officers had scrutinized her work, largely because of her gender and her status as an Oxford outsider. Even Robbie—bless his conventional heart— was occasionally flummoxed about how to behave around her. But she had never experienced those sensations with Hathaway, who showed her genuine respect and the same endearing awkwardness he showed toward everyone else.

In his confusion, Hathaway found himself tongue-tied. "But you…you can't… I…need. I can't… stay here. You should know that as well as anyone."

As he looked at her with those intense James eyes, she could almost feel the ghosts of his lips and his hands—rough and vehement but tinged with desperation and an overpowering sense of sadness. She could feel an echo of the same desperate sorrow within herself.

"Oh, I'm not disputing that you need some time off. You've been through some very difficult cases, and it's no wonder that they've taken their toll." As Hathaway gave a grudging nod of agreement, Innocent continued. " Besides which, you are long overdue some extended leave. Take six months off—a year even. Spend some quality time with your family, or travel. See the Dome of the Rock and the Hagia Sophia and those other places you're always wittering on about."

He chewed thoughtfully, considering this. "And if I come back after a year and haven't changed my mind?"

She sighed and gave a sad half-smile. "Then, I'll happily cut you loose and endorse you in whatever you chose to do. I just …I can't let you make a decision this major without careful consideration…especially if I have in any way, precipitated your resignation. "

Hathaway was about to protest that he had given this careful thought, when a thought occurred to him. Though he'd been miserable for a while and idly considering resignation for months, he hadn't thought of it seriously until Lewis had brought up retirement. He was not sure how he would cope with the loss of his mentor—his rock of compassion and stability— who had kept him sane, safe, and alive these past few years.

But perhaps, Innocent was right. Perhaps, he was being too hasty in his decision. Maybe with some time off to think and pray and live a more normal life he might develop the strength he needed to do this job without Lewis. In any case, this plan would give him more time to figure out what he planned to do with the rest of his life. "I'll definitely give it some thought, ma'am. Thank you."

"Thank you, James. For everything. Whatever happens, I need you to know that working with you has been an absolute pleasure."

Hathaway knew that he should return the compliment, but for some reasons, the words simply would not come out properly . So he merely thanked her, shook her proffered hand, and left the room.

 **END OF PART ONE**


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Two: The Missing Year**

Hathaway had only just finished unpacking, when he saw a missed call on his mobile. He checked his voicemail, and heard a familiar voice.

"Hello, James. Welcome back. I hope you've enjoyed your travels abroad. Call me when you get this message."

Well, Jean Innocent certainly didn't waste any time. Hathaway had scarcely been back three days, and she was already trying to recruit him back. He had to admire her initiative at the very least, and given that he still hadn't decided what his future plans were, he was willing to at least listen to what she had to say.

He immediately rang her back.

"Hello, James. I was hoping I might hear from you." He could almost hear her smile over the phone.

"How do you? …I mean I've only just got back. I haven't even told my family I'm back in the country yet."

"My spies are everywhere."

"Er…" Why was it that he could never quite tell when Jean Innocent was joking?

"Serious answer… Gurdip saw you at the grocery store yesterday. He wanted to go over and say hello, but Julie was waiting for him in the car, and you were too busy to contemplating the tea aisle to respond when he called your name."

"Right." He doubted he was contemplating the tea aisle so much as contemplating his life up to that point, second-guessing nearly every major decision he'd made and worrying about those he was yet to make. A thought then struck him. "So Gurdip and Julie are they…?"

"We'll see. They claim they're only friends, but I have it on good authority that Gurdip's mother is coming down from London to meet Julie."

Hathaway was pleased. He liked both Gurdip and Julie and thought them well-suited.

Innocent continued a moment later. "Anyway, I'm getting off-topic. I was hoping you might come over for dinner this week."

"That's kind of you, ma'am. But...I..err…"

"Friday is probably the most convenient for me, but I might be able to rearrange my schedule if another time works better." Though Innocent's tone was friendly enough, her voice still carried enough authority to alert Hathaway to the fact that he did not dare refuse her invitation.

"Friday would be fine."

" Excellent. I'll see you on Friday at around seven o'clock."

…

Hathaway rapped firmly on Jean Innocent's door. Or at least, upon the door, he hoped was still Jean Innocent's. At the time Hathaway had left Oxford, the chief superintendent had been in the middle of a very ugly divorce. Even if Innocent had been awarded the house, there was no guarantee that she had kept it. It would be totally understandable if she had sold or leased the property to someone else, given the unpleasant memories she probably had of the place.

Still, Innocent had not mentioned a change in address, when she had emailed him earlier in the week to confirm her dinner invitation. He wondered if he should text her, just to make sure he was at the right place. He awkwardly shuffled the bottle of wine in his hand under his arm so that he could reach his phone. The door unexpectedly opened a minute later, and he nearly dropped both wine and phone at the site of her.

Innocent looked—' _well'_ wasn't even near to the right word, nor ' _good'_ , but Hathaway was pressed to think of acceptable alternatives. She had let her hair grow, and it now fell to her shoulders in gleaming chestnut waves. Hathaway could not tell if Innocent had put on a bit of weight or lost it, but it suited her. So did the casual clothes she was wearing—blue jeans and a black v-neck top. She also looked inexplicably shorter, until he realized a moment later that she wasn't wearing her customary heels; instead, small bare feet with pink painted toenails peeked out from underneath the cuffs of her trousers.

Overall, there was a remarkable vibrancy to Jean Innocent that Hathaway had not seen in years—if he had ever seen at all. Her eyes, her hair, even her skin seemed almost to glow with a luster of health and color. At once pleased about and envious of Innocent's newfound vitality, he found it difficult to look at her and even more difficult to look away.

She smiled and greeted him with a chaste cheek-kiss, which made him oddly uncomfortable for reasons he wasn't sure he could articulate. "Come inside," she said, and he did so.

"I should probably check on dinner. Feel free to make yourself comfortable." As Innocent left the room, Hathaway settled himself on the sofa and idly flipped through the book on the coffee table.

When Innocent re-entered the room a few minutes later, he held the book aloft. " _Women's Murder Club_. Really, ma'am? No disrespect to James Patterson, but I would have thought you got enough of that sort of thing on your own."

She sat in the armchair opposite him. "Not since you and Lewis left. The once-thriving Oxford criminal hotbed seems to have placed a moratorium on murder for the present. We haven't had anything more serious than petty theft and drug charges for months. It's been wonderful, but occasionally, it does become a little dull."

"I can believe that."

Though… I suspect that now that you're back in Oxford, things will change." The light reached Jean's eyes when she smiled, and James was again astounded at how much more vivacious she had become in his absence. There was an almost magnetic quality about her now—some inexplicable cosmic force that seemed to both draw Hathaway into her light, even as it simultaneously pushed him away.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes before Innocent broke it. "So, it looks like dinner will be ready in about ten minutes. I hope beef lasagna is okay. I wanted something that I could prepare in advance in case I had to stay late at work."

"That sounds wonderful." A troubling thought then struck him a moment later and he looked over at the wine bottle he had brought. "Only…I wasn't sure what you were making, and I ended up buying California chardonnay. I can go out and exchange it for a red wine if you like—get something that will pair better with the lasagna."

"Don't be ridiculous, James. We can have a glass now if you like, and white wine will pair perfectly with desert."

"Err…ok." Hathaway wasn't convinced. He wished had gone with his initial instinct of bringing flowers for the table rather than wine, but then realized his foolishness a moment later. He colored slightly, imagining how it would have looked for him to bring a nice floral arrangement to an attractive, recently divorced woman with whom he had momentarily been physically intimate.

Innocent got up from her chair, and picked up the wine bottle. "Here, I'd best put this on ice, and I can bring you a glass if you like."

"Err…just water for me. Thank you, ma'am."

"You don't have to call me that, James. I'm off-duty, and for the moment at least, we are not working together."

"Right…Jean." The chief superintendent's Christian name had always felt odd on his tongue, but now it felt almost natural. This vibrant, smiling, denim-clad woman with lasagna in the oven and pink varnish on her bare toes was a far cry to the tightly-wound, irritable, and melancholy "Chief Superintendent Innocent" to whom he had become accustomed.

And yet, in spite of her newfound vitality, Innocent was still recognizably herself—wryly witty, cultured, and intelligent. It was as though Hathaway was seeing her as she must have been in her prime—before a stressful job and a woefully inadequate husband had zapped away her spark.

Jean left the room and returned a few minutes later with water for James and white wine for herself. After handing Hathaway his water, she reclaimed her own seat and took a sip from her glass. "You needn't worry about the wine, James. It's excellent."

"Er…thanks…So things have been going well at the station?"

"As well as can be expected. Even though we haven't had much criminal activity lately, there's still so much to do: mountains of paperwork, performance reviews, upcoming trials, PR opportunities…"

"Makes you almost miss those gristly Oxfordian murders—doesn't it?"

"Almost. So what about you? How were your travels abroad? You have a lovely tan, so I am guessing Spain agreed with you."

"I..err.." Hathaway had no real interest in discussing Spain. It wasn't the trip had been a failure but it hadn't exactly been a rousing success either—months of trudging a difficult path, hoping that he might find himself along the way before eventually realizing that he neither could receive nor did he want the insight and forgiveness for which he had been searching. And he had come back, nearly as uncertain as he had been before he left—though less melancholy at least.

Reluctant to discus his travels anymore than he had to, Hathaway quickly changed the subject. "It was fine…good. I..er…you've redecorated."

And she had. Though she'd kept the coffee table and the dark green sofa and armchair set, she had rearranged the furniture, repainted the walls a light sage color, and obtained a green-and-gold Persian style carpet.

She looked at him curiously for a minute, and he quickly realized his mistake. The last—and in fact—only other time he had been in this flat had culminated in shoving Jean Innocent up against the kitchen counter before progressing into her bedroom.

However, any further discomfort Innocent might have felt she ignored. "Yes. I'd been meaning to for awhile, and as the divorce settlement was very generous, I figured I might as well."

"It looks very nice, ma'a—err…Jean." Now that he had inadvertently broached the subject of her divorce, he knew that he should follow up on it—even though he had no real idea of what to say or how. "I..er…so, how are things with you, personally…I mean…now that..."

"Good. Or as good as can be expected. The first few months—well, the first several months were quite difficult. But I think I am doing much better now. I'm happier than I can remember being a long time. And I think I've finally started to realize just how much he was holding me back—personally and professionally."

"Sounds like you're well-shot of him."

"I suppose, though sometimes it feels like I wasted twenty-some years of my life."

Hathaway certainly knew that feeling, but he did not want to acknowledge it any more deeply than he already had. He sipped his water in silence for a long time, until Innocent suddenly got up from the chair.

"I think the lasagna is probably about done. I just need to heat up the sauce."

He followed her into the kitchen and watched her remove a covered glass jar from the refrigerator, pour its contents into a small pot, and place the pot on the stove.

"I…err…is that…homemade sauce?"

She turned over to him and smiled before returning her attention to the pot. "My grandmother was Italian. She tried to teach me some of her recipes when I was a kid, but this was about all I had the requisite patience and talent for. "

"I'm impressed."

"Don't be. It couldn't be any easier—just fresh tomatoes, garlic, onions, carrots, several herbs, and a little bit of honey." After placing a tiny bit into her mouth to taste, she stirred in a few additional pinches of black pepper. "And it's never quite as good as my nonna's was –even though I follow her recipe to the letter. Now, there was a culinary magician. Used to make the pasta itself from scratch."

"Were you close to her—your grandmother, I mean?"

"Very. She was quite a remarkable woman. Came here all on her own when she was sixteen, just after the First World War. Didn't know a soul and had no real references but somehow talked her way into a dressmaker's shop. Raised five children and lost two to polio. And still found the time to teach herself to read and write English."

"She does sound quite remarkable."

"She was brilliant. The most compassionate person you could possibly imagine, but bloody terrifying if you got on her bad side."

He smiled wryly "Now who does that remind me of?"

" _Hardly_. But I am flattered. Why don't you sit down, and I'll get everything ready."

…

After a delicious dinner and an hour of so of friendly reminiscing, Innocent brought out desert—a light sponge cake topped with peaches and double cream frosting, poured the wine, and finally brought the subject around to James's possible return to the force.

Hathaway took a sip of wine from his glass. Innocent had been right; the chardonnay did pair perfectly with the desert. "I thought you said things were going well on the force. That crime was down and everything."

"Well, it is, but you and I both know it's a just a momentary lull before the storm. Things can't stay this quiet forever, and when all hell breaks loose, I'll need more men like you. Clever, reliable people with experience. People I can trust."

Hathaway was genuinely flattered, but he couldn't help but remember those times he had proved unworthy of her trust—the Will McEwan case, Zelinksky, the Stephen Black case, and most of all, the moment when he'd used her physically to combat his own pain. He had just enough self-respect to be sure he could never fail her in that way again, but he was still haunted by his past mistakes.

"I dunno…ma'am…I really don't. Not without…"

Jean seemed to immediately pickup on what he wasn't saying ' _not without Lewis._ '

She placed her hand over his, her eyes alight with understanding and compassion. "You can, James. I know that you can. He's taught you well, and he'll be with you in spirit, even if you are standing on your own now. And as wonderful as the partnership was for both of you, Robbie and I both agree that it's time you came out from under his shadow and saw what remarkable things you are really capable of."

He remained silent for awhile, so Innocent eventually settled on a compromise. "Look, the next OSPRE examination is scheduled in two months. I'll help you prepare for the test, and you can continue to mull over whether you want to return. After the test, if you are still sure that you don't want to return, I'll give the vacant inspector's position to… someone else, and you can go on your merry way."

"That someone else wouldn't happen to be Adrian Kershaw—would it?" Though Kershaw was a good friend, he and Hathaway had long been engaged in an intense friendly rivalry, and Hathaway was loath to cede a promotion to him.

"Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies. Though I must say…it would be rather a pity if I had to give away a position I've been holding for you for nearly a year to another officer—even one as ambitious and capable as Adrian Kershaw."

Hathaway sat and thought for a minute. He still had no idea of what he might due with his life in lieu of the police, and this would buy him some time. "So, this…it's non-binding? I can take the test, and I'll still be able to change my mind afterwards."

She nodded. "Yes. Does this mean you'll do it."

"I…I suppose it does."

"Wonderful," Innocent said with a positively radiant smile. She raised her wine in toast. "To new

beginnings."

He clinked his glass to hers. "I'll drink to that."


	5. Chapter 5

After concluding a particularly unpleasant call with the Chief Constable, Jean Innocent leaned back in her chair and began massaging her now-throbbing temples. She heard a brief knock before the door to office swung open.

" _Can't this wait?"_ Innocent's voice came out much harsher than she had intended, but she was not in the mood to deal with any more unpleasantness. However, her expression immediately softened when she recognized the man at the door. "Oh, I'm so, James…I didn't mean to…It's just been such a…"

"…Long day?" he finished, walking over towards her. "That makes two of us."

"Oh, right, your exams. I'd almost forgotten. How were they?"

"Long, tedious, rigorous. But no real surprises. Apart from the one question about…"

"Now, now, James. You and I both know exam regulations strictly forbid you from talking to anyone about the questions. I'd hate to have to disqualify you when you've worked so hard."

He glanced at her in astonishment, only to see her eyes shining brightly up at him. She had only been teasing. _Probably_. He could never quite be sure with her.

"Why don't you have a seat, James?" she gestured at the chair opposite her.

"No, I'll only be a moment. I was wondering if I might buy you a drink… to say… thank you for all the help you've given me with all of this."

Innocent raised an eyebrow. She didn't recall giving Hathaway too much help with his exams, apart from passing on study materials. When he had turned down her initial offer to help him study, she hadn't asked again—at first, because she hadn't wanted to pressure him and then because it had genuinely slipped her mind. "I'd love to, James. Though to be quite honest, I should be the one buying you a drink—after all the hard work you've put in and after all the grief I've given you over the past several years."

" That may be so, but _I_ asked first."

Innocent smiled. For all of his awkwardness, James Hathaway really was far too charming for his own good—not that she had any intention of telling him. For one thing, he never would have believed her. And for another… _well it was best not to think any more of that._

"When would you like to go?"

"Well, right now, if you're free." Innocent opened her mouth to refuse, but Hathaway immediately silenced her. "It's after five, so anything pressing can surely wait until tomorrow. And knowing you, I doubt you gave yourself a decent lunch break."

He knew her far too well. Jean had given herself just enough time to have half a sandwich at her desk, before returning to a seemingly-endless cycle of paperwork and phone calls. "Alright then."

He smiled, one of those rare Hathaway smiles that reached those inscrutable, intelligent eyes. "Excellent."

…

While Innocent found them a table, Hathaway went up to the bar to retrieve their drinks. He returned a few moments later and found Jean with a man he didn't recognize. The man was handsome enough in a craggy sort of way— stocky and solid, unshaven, slightly unruly grey hair, intense brown eyes, and a fair few age lines on his forehead. But still he wasn't Hathaway's type at all—too short for one thing. There was also a subtle but distinct ambiance of overall sleaziness about the man. Perhaps it was the cloying scent of his cologne—a cheap but popular knockoff of a ludicrously-expensive Italian scent. It was the same scent DI Peterson wore, which might have brought on unfairly negative associations.

Hathaway cleared his throat loudly, and Innocent turned to see him. "Ah, James."

To the other man's credit, he took his cue immediately. "Well, I suppose I had better get going. Lovely as always to see you, Jean. Don't hesitate to call, if you need anything."

Hathaway took the man's now-vacant chair and slid Innocent's drink over to her. "So, he seemed rather friendly." James hoped his tone didn't sound quite as sour to Jean as it did to himself.

"Yes, he was my solicitor during the divorce."

"Right." He couldn't help but feel a twinge of relief, though he wasn't sure he could articulate why.

"And he's taken me to dinner a few times since."

"Ah…so..."

"Not at all. He's hardly my type. Too much of an attorney—all flash and no substance. Not unlike my ex…" She drained nearly half of her glass in one go. "But he's been very kind and was a great help during a very difficult time, so I've been trying to let him down gently."

They both drank in silence for awhile, before Hathaway finally asked the question on his mind."So there isn't anyone in your life at the moment?"

"Not really. I mean, I'm certainly not opposed to the idea, but I'm not looking at this time. Too raw from the divorce, I suppose. And there isn't anyone…well, anyone except…" She trailed off and when she added, "my son" a moment later, Hathaway couldn't shake the suspicion that this was a last minute substitution.

"So, shall we have another round?" Innocent asked, perhaps a touch too brightly. "My treat, this time."

…

Two rounds of beer and necessary small talk later, things turned serious.

"You look so intense, James. What's on your mind?"

"I…err…nothing."

She reached across the table and placed a hand on his. "You can trust me, James. You can trust me with anything."

Perhaps it was profound compassion in her eyes or perhaps it was Dutch courage rising in him, but he found himself telling the truth. "Do you...do you ever think about _that_ night?"

Jean didn't need to ask him to clarify, as they both knew exactly to what James was referring—the night that their bared bodies and souls had collided roughly, frantically, desperately. She swiftly removed her hand from his.

"Sometimes," she answered honestly a moment later. More often than she really liked.

Hathaway pretended to be studying the bottle of ketchup beside his stein. "Well, do you ever...think less of me for it?"

"Of course, not, James. You were in a very rough place; we both were." A distressing thought struck her a moment later. "Why? Do you think less of me?"

He met her gaze." Of _you_ , no."

Innocent— _damned clever woman that she was_ —immediately picked up on what Hathaway wasn't saying. "And of yourself?"

"I... just…I can't help but wish that it had happened differently."

His words frightened her for reasons she did not wish to acknowledge. "It could _only_ have happened like that, James."

" I know. I didn't mean…I only wish that I been...I dunno."

" Better?" she finished. "I can assure you, James. You were perfectly adequate if my memory serves me right."

His ears turned a slight shade of pink. "That wasn't…I didn't… I mean…I just wish I'd been...I dunno...gentler, more tender and more giving. Less… selfish."

"It's not selfish to crave comfort when you need comfort. Especially if the person you need comfort from needs it just as much as you do."

"But I…I wasn't think of you. Only of myself. And I…I was too reckless and I hurt you."

"No more than he did. And…it was…it helped."

And so it had.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." Another thought struck her, and she knew she needed to clear the air.

"And if _that_ night is any way affecting your decision on whether or not to return…if you feel you need to prove yourself to me, or if you're scared that you might hurt me again…well, this shouldn't impact your decision one way or another. It's just…something that happened. You're a good man, James. And you deserve to be happy and successful on your own terms—without any fear or self-doubt or sense of obligation making you question yourself."

He drummed a finger against his mug, as he considered what she'd said. "I thought you wanted me to come back."

"I did…I _do_. But not if it's wrong for you, not unless it's what you want."

"What if I don't know what I want? Or what if I think I want something that's hopeless and mad and probably wrong for me?"

"Well, I wouldn't recommend running off to join the circus." He smiled in spite of himself at that. "But otherwise…I trust you, James."

"Even after…after all we've been through."

" _Especially_ then. I think you just need to take a step back and trust yourself."

It was far easier said than done, but as he looked into Jean's beautiful hazel eyes, he resolved to take her words to heart.


	6. Chapter 6

Note: _This rather-brief chapter serves as a transition between Hathaway's return to the force and Innocent's departure from it. It takes place during or just prior to "Entry Wounds" and is written from Innocent's perspective._

* * *

James Hathaway was becoming a problem, one that Jean Innocent still wasn't exactly sure that she knew how to solve.

He had only been back on the force for two months thus far, but he was already on his third sergeant. That fact in itself, though troubling, was not the real cause of her alarm. After all, sometimes it took awhile to determine the most effective sergeant/inspector pairing—a fact of which Hathaway himself was well-aware, given the eight months he had spent working under a different inspector prior to Robbie Lewis's arrival.

What really had Jean concerned had been the way in which these partnerships had been terminated. Two, responsible hard-working officers, who had not once given Innocent any grief, had all-but begged never to be assigned to James Hathaway again. The normally-docile DS Regan, in a fit of melodrama Innocent never would have suspected from him, had even expressed desire to transfer—if staying at the Kidlington station meant having to work again with "that supercilious Oxbridge swot."

After the catastrophe of Hathaway's first two sergeants, Innocent had eventually settled on Lizzie Maddox as a replacement. At the time, she had hoped that Maddox might be a better fit for James. In addition to her intelligence and eagerness to learn, Lizzie had earnestness and a Northern work-class charm about her—not unlike Hathaway's former inspector.

The way things were looking now, the Hathaway-Maddox partnership seemed just as strained and ineffectual as the previous attempts.

But if not Maddox, then w _ho_? The already diminutive pool of prospective candidates was rapidly shrinking. Most of the junior officers were already in effective partnerships, from which Innocent was loath to remove them. Of those who were not, most disliked Hathaway outright or were reluctant to encroach on what they still saw as Robbie Lewis's purview.

And amongst the few unattached officers who remained, James was vastly gaining quite a reputation as a difficult man with whom to work. It shouldn't have surprised Innocent nearly as much as it did. Hathaway's intelligent, introverted demeanor could easily come across as an arrogant, aloof one. Though Jean doubted James would've suspected it, they had that in common.

Partly out of professionalism and partly out of self-preservation, Innocent attempted to detach herself from all things personal, repressing everything that would make her vulnerable.

There were times when she felt sure that her distance, her coldness had been what had driven Roger Innocent into the arms of another woman. But then she remembered that he had been just as indifferent when she'd been open and attentive.

It was a curious paradox—to be simultaneously too cold and not cold enough.

Sometimes Jean Innocent wished that she could be as unfeeling as her frosty exterior suggested. It would be so much easier to be all-head and no-heart; she would be stronger, more capable. She would never be hurt again, but she would also never love again.

She wondered if James Hathaway ever wrestled with this question. And now that her thoughts had once again settled on James, she turned again to the problem.

It would likely be better for them all if she merely left Hathaway to his own devices, sans sergeant. James would prefer it; he was clearly already convinced he worked better alone, given his refusal to delegate any of the workload.

But Jean simply couldn't give up on this yet. James had so much wisdom, so much diligence, so much compassion, and Innocent didn't want to see it go to waste, when it should be shared, imparted into some lucky protégé, just as Lewis had imparted his own strengths to Hathaway.

And more than that, Innocent was sure that it would help James as well. He had always been a lonely little soul, and this had only increased since his return to the force. The right partner could change all of this, could bring back that irascible wit and irresistible smile. He'd be more effective, and more important, he'd be _happier_.

Innocent wondered if the real problem was that she herself was too close to the situation.

She had always had a soft spot for the lad, but lately, she had started to wonder whether that was all it was. Had she allowed her personal feelings about James—whatever and however they were—to cloud her professional judgment? It was a question to which she neither knew nor cared to know the answer.

For now, the most she could do was give it more time and hope that Hathaway and Maddox learned to work things out. Perhaps, a complicated, murder case would bring the two of them together in ways the open-and-shut, garden-variety cases they had recently been working had not.

In the meantime, she had best give Robbie a call. Whether he'd admit or not, James Hathaway needed Robbie Lewis back, and Jean Innocent needed James Hathaway back.


	7. Chapter 7

Notes:Sorry for the delay in posting. It's been a busy time. This is another brief transition chapter, but now we are starting to get into some of the meatier stuff, so the next chapter should be longer and more-involved.

* * *

Ordinarily, James Hathaway rarely put much stock in water-cooler gossip. In all honesty, he could not care less who hated whom, or who fancied whom, or who shagged whom—unless said gossip directly impacted him.

But the rumor that Jean Innocent was leaving Oxford was different. It was forcing him to confront several different emotions at once: shock, anger, disappointment, worry-and something else. Something that he'd been trying not to acknowledge for months—quite probably longer. Something that he feared and craved in almost equal measure.

So consumed was Hathaway with a myriad of conflicting thoughts and fears and feelings, that he walked in a daze—completely unaware of his actions and his surroundings—until he found himself at the outer door of Jean Innocent's office.

He took a moment to steady his nerves before entering without knocking. He reasoned that he was more likely to get a thorough, honest answer if he took her by surprise. He dashed past Jean's protesting sergeant to the inner door of the chief superintendent's office and entered, inadvertently slamming the door behind him. "Is it true?"

"I'm doing quite well, Hathaway. How are you today?" Innocent quipped wryly.

"Is it true?"

She didn't even need to ask what this was about. "Yes, it is." She raised an inquisitive brow. "I don't know how you know. We're not even announcing it until the end of the week."

"Never mind that. Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's only just been decided. I found out two days ago."

"No, I meant… why didn't you tell me you were thinking of going?"

"I wasn't aware that I needed your permission, Hathaway," Innocent said coolly.

He opened his mouth to reply and then swiftly closed it. She was right; it was her life. Her decision did and should have nothing whatsoever to do with him.

 _And yet…_

She'd been one of the few stable, reliable presences in his life. She'd always found him when he'd been at the crossroads and had guided him in the right direction.

He needed her to be that stable presence- that rare-but-radiant smile and that warm, guiding hand. And he needed something more besides—something he was terrified to articulate.

After a long, tentative silence, he finally spoke. "Why?"

She shrugged. " It's a step up the ladder—assistant chief constable of all things. Besides, it was time for a change. The divorce has sort of soured me toward Oxford at the moment. And it's not like there's much keeping me here."

 _Not much keeping her here_?

"Rubbish? What about the station? What about all the good that you've done here? You've…you've been amazing, and I…we need you, Jean."

"I can do much more good in Suffolk. It's a smaller station—one that needs a lot of building up. Besides, I'm sure the chief constable will leave you in capable hands. I hear he's tapped Joe Moody for my successor—a brilliant copper if there ever was one."

"But he…I…" He sighed. " I didn't come back to work with Joe Moody. I don't want Joe Moody; I want you."

The intensity in his voice made her pause. Jean wondered whether James was referring exclusively to their cordial working relationship. And then, she wondered whether and why it would matter if he were speaking on personal-rather-than-professional terms.

After a long moment of thought, Innocent opened her mouth to respond, but Hathaway had already turned to go.


	8. Chapter 8

As James Hathaway had refused to look her in the eye for an entire week, Jean Innocent had resolved to mend fences. Logically, she knew that he was the one who should really be apologizing, but she wasn't entirely sure his bloody pride would let him. Under different circumstances, she doubted her own bloody pride would let her broker peace, but she had neither the time, nor the energy to prolong this. She was leaving for Suffolk in two days, and the last thing she wanted was for the two of them to part on bad terms.

Maddox and Lewis had both left early today—Lewis to meet Lyn and Jack at the train station, and Maddox to celebrate her anniversary. This had left Hathaway alone in his office—the perfect place for Innocent to ambush him.

"I'd like to buy you a drink," she said without any word of introduction.

He pretended to be studying the open case file on his desk. "That's kind of you, ma'am, but I really have a lot of work to do."

"This is _not_ a request, Inspector." The intensity in her voice made her look up. Once she had Hathaway's attention, Innocent's tone softened considerably. "It's my last day here, and I want to say goodbye and…and thank you."

James considered this for a moment, genuinely touched at her desire to thank him—when they both knew it should have been the other way around. "Shouldn't I be the one buying you a drink? You're the one leaving. And you…I…"

She smirked. "That may very well be true, but I asked first."

He suddenly remembered the last time they'd had a drink together—and his stubborn insistence that he should pay—and smiled at hearing his argument parroted back at him.

And now that their last shared drink had sprung to mind, Hathaway found himself recalling the rest of that evening—the things that he had said and had not said, the realizations he had almost had.

James knew that he tended to be twice as forthcoming after he'd imbibed and wondered if he'd be even more open tonight—even more honest with both himself and with Jean —now that it was almost certainly too late.

"James, you still haven't answered my question." Innocent's voice drew Hathaway back from himself.

"Yes, ma'am. Of course. When would you like to leave?"

"Right now—if you'll just give me a minute to put a few things in my car."

* * *

As it was a lovely evening, Hathaway offered to find them a table outside as Innocent went off to get their drinks. While he settled himself down at a small round table beside the river, he began thinking about what he was going to say—or even if he should say anything at all.

That wasn't to say he intended to spend the entire evening silent. He would be cordial, charming even—toasting her imminent success in Suffolk, thanking her for her years of wonderful service on Oxford. He might even apologize for his brusqueness when he'd first heard of her transfer.

But when it came to the real crux of the issue—to the things that really mattered…

Part of him was certain it would be better for both of them if he just kept quiet. The last thing he wanted to do burn bridges on what might very well be the last time they saw each other.

But on the other hand, if he owed anyone his honesty, it was Jean Innocent. Jean Innocent who had been there for him at times of crisis or uncertainty. Jean Innocent with whom he'd collided alternatively harshly and gently on countless occasions—personal and professional alike. Jean Innocent who had once told him that the only reliable way to find out about any relationship was to test it to destruction.

"James," Hathaway glanced up and saw Innocent walking towards him with two glasses in their hands. "I hope it's alright, but I ordered a plate of chips. I haven't had anything since breakfast."

She passed him his drink and slid into the seat next to him. Due to the small size of the table, he could feel her bare thigh almost touching his. "That sounds wonderful, ma'am. Although…" he reached into his trouser pocket for his wallet, accidentally brushing her knee in the process. "I think we only agreed on your paying for the drinks."

Her eyes twinkled. "Are you trying to buy my forgiveness, Inspector? "

He all-but-choked on his drink. "I..err…what…"

"James…that was a joke."

"Right, of course, ma'am."

"I thought we were clear on that; it's Jean now."

"Of course, _Jean_." It was strange how simultaneously easy and how difficult it was to wrap the single syllable around his lips—how natural and yet how forced the name sounded.

A server arrived a minute later with their chips, and just as he had insisted, Hathaway paid for them—despite Innocent's obvious disapproval.

For the next ten minutes, Innocent chattered breezily about her transfer –the flat she already had lined up, her plans for reducing crime in Suffolk, all the wonderful things she had heard about her successor Joe Moody.

To his credit, Hathaway tried to pay attention, nodding encouragingly and occasionally interjecting with the occasional "right" and "of course." His mind however was a million miles away—caught between two equally tempting courses of action.

He finally came back to himself, when their fingers collided as they both reached for a fry at the same time.

Innocent's kind eyes expressed a look of concern. "Are you alright, James? You seem preoccupied, and your face has gone hot."

There it was—the moment of truth. Now or never.

"Look, I just wanted to say I'm sorry about the way I spoke to you the other day. I was out-of-line."

"Oh, is that all? Haven't I made it clear I've forgiven you?"

Hathaway cleared his throat. "No, I mean...yes…I mean that's not all. I was being blind... and selfish. At first, I let myself believe that I was only thinking on professional terms. I know I'm not always an easy man to work with."

"You can say that again," she teased.

He smiled. "And I was losing a boss that I've always gotten on well with—someone who understood me and who I trusted. Someone I considered a confidant, a mentor—even a friend. But—I've come to realize something else. I wasn't speaking on professional terms at all, and I wasn't angry for those reasons—well not _only_ those reasons at any rate."

"What are you saying, James?"

" That I…I…think…no, I _know_ …That I have feelings for you, Jean Innocent, and that I've tried for months—maybe even longer—not to admit it to myself. But…now, it feels wrong not to tell you—to let you go off thinking I resent you. I never could."

"Oh, James."

He couldn't bear to look into her eyes, fearing he might see regret or worse— _pity_. "I shouldn't have… I dunno what I was thinking… I know you're still leaving day after tomorrow… It's not like it could change anything."

"Well, I wouldn't say it doesn't change 'anything."

He gave her a stare of blank confusion, so she placed her hand over his and interlaced their fingers. As comprehension slowly dawned on him, she gently placed her other hand on his neck and pulled him down to her level. The tips of their noses mere centimeters apart, they looked into each other's eyes and waited for the moment when one of them decided to close what little distance—physical and emotional alike—remained between them.

James moved first, rubbing his thumb slowly along Jean's lower lip before replacing it with his mouth. His lips were gentle at first, hesitant—as though he feared losing control with her as he had on that night all those years ago.

In a subtle indication that he needn't have worried about being cautious, she slyly pried his mouth open with her tongue and pulled him closer.

As things became more passionate, he gently nudged her off her chair and onto his lap. His hands encircled her waist, while her hips slowly began to grind against him.

"Oi, get a room, mate!"

Hathaway and Innocent broke apart and saw a trio of lanky youths grinning wickedly at them from their punt. One winked. "I'd throw you a johnny, but my aim is rubbish."

James flushed deeply and looked away, but Jean quickly responded with a lewd rebuttal Hathaway never would have expected from her—one that made him anxious to apply her vivid imagination in the bedroom.

Laughing, the punters rowed off, and Hathaway returned his attention to Innocent. He pressed his lips briefly against her neck. "Should we… go back to my flat? I…I mean…only if you want to…I wouldn't…I shouldn't…"

She took her hand in his. "Yes, you should."


	9. Chapter 9

_While I am planning on posting a brief epilogue (set a few months later and told from a different character's perspective) this is the last official chapter. Thank you all for reading and for being so patient when I took awhile to update. I'm so glad I was able to share this story with you all, and I hope you enjoyed reading it, even half as much as I enjoyed writing it._

* * *

 _Two Hours Later_

They lay for awhile in silence, sheets tangled around limbs and thoughts swirling around minds. Memories of the first time they had lain together like this, when nothing had happened the way it was meant to—when everything had been rough, selfish and uncharacteristically detached.

Finally, Hathaway had the courage to ask. "Was that…was that okay for you?"

Jean propped her elbow up onto the pillow and rested her chin in her hand. "I should have thought I'd made that fairly obvious," she said, giving him a positively wicked smile.

Hathaway could feel his ears turning scarlet. "I…I…I mean, it sounded like …that…it... But I…I didn't want to..." He hoped that she understood what he was trying to say.

Jean silenced him with a deep kiss. When they broke apart, she stroked his chin affectionately. "For the record, James, I'm not one to feign pleasure I don't feel," she said and Hathaway nodded his understanding. "…Which is probably why my marriage fell apart."

"Right…" James wasn't entirely sure how to take this.

Innocent quickly backpedalled. "I didn't mean. It wasn't that he was…Roger was actually quite _skilled_ in many ways. It's just…there eventually reached a point where…everything became about him. I suppose I should have realized sooner that he was starting to lose interest in me."

James couldn't imagine anyone possibly losing interest in her, but he didn't voice this thought aloud—sure that she would accuse him of flattering her. "So, you're sure that I…that it was… that it didn't…I mean, that I wasn't too…"

Jean studied him curiously, wondering how someone so assertive, so vehement whilst in the throes of passion, could be so devoid of confidence outside it. She grabbed his hand and interlaced her fingers with his. "You were wonderful."

He flushed deeper, but she could see some of the tension leave his shoulders. She moved their linked hands down to her breast. "If you're still unconvinced, we can always try again…."

"No." The abruptness and intensity of his answer startled her, and she released his hand. He quickly corrected himself. "I mean…I want to. You would not believe how much I want to. But I…you're leaving, and I don't want this to be…."

" Wham, bam, and thank you, ma'am?" Innocent quipped with a wry smile.

He chuckled in spite of himself. "Exactly."

"It doesn't have to." He looked at her querulously, and she placed a tentative hand on his chest. "You could always come visit me, whenever you can. Only if you really want to, mind. Or I could come to see you. It's only a few hours away after all. It'll be…difficult, but I think I'd be willing to try… if you are… "

He stopped her mouth with his, which Jean soon took to be a "yes."


	10. Epilogue

_Author's Note: As I may have mentioned at the end of the previous chapter, this final chapter is not a chapter as such, but is rather a brief epilogue set a few months later._

 _Thank you all for reading, commenting, and letting me share my little story with you._

* * *

 _A Few Months Later_

"Happy Birthday, Laura." Jean gave Laura an affectionate peck on the cheek before taking a seat beside her on the sofa.

"There you are, pet," said Robbie, handing Laura a glass of wine before turning his attention to Innocent. "It's good to see you, ma'am. It's been ages."

"It really has, Robbie. Thank you for inviting me."

"It's really Laura you have to thank for that. If I had known you were coming, I would've made up the spare room."

Innocent bit her lip, not entirely sure how to respond to this. "That's very kind."

"Still, I'm already giving Julie a lift home, so I'd be happy to pop you over to your hotel."

Hobson sprung to Innocent's rescue. "Robbie… might I have a word?" She grabbed Lewis firmly by the elbow and dragged him over to the other side of the room.

"What's the matter, pet?" He absently rubbed his arm, wondering what he had done to annoy this infuriating, wonderful woman with whom he shared heart and home. "I'm sorry for whatever it is I did…"

"You've done nothing _yet_. I just needed to step in before you made Jean feel any more uncomfortable."

He furrowed his brow, wondering what exactly was so uncomfortable about offering to drive Innocent to her hotel. "I didn't mean to…"

" I know you didn't, but the fact is… Jean's not staying in a hotel. She's staying with James." Laura sighed and then continued. "I didn't want to have to be the one to tell you this…"

"I suppose Hathaway will offer her the bed."

Laura wrinkled her nose in distaste. " That's one way of putting it."

"Still sleeping on the sofa can't be good for Hathaway's back." Robbie wondered if he should suggest James kip at theirs instead.

"Why on earth would James be sleeping on the sofa?"

"Because his flat only has one bedroom," Lewis replied matter-of-factly.

Laura gave him a significant look. " _Exactly_."

It took a moment for Robbie to realize the implications of exactly what Laura was saying. "Oh...so he...they? Right." He cleared his throat." How long has this been going on?"

"Only since Jean's transfer—though there's been a spark between them for ages now. I think I noticed it long before either of them did."

"Is it serious?" Lewis asked, wondering whether it would matter if it was.

" _Officially_ , they are free to see other people."

"And unofficially?"

" He's down to see her nearly every weekend, and she's upgraded to an extra-long mattress."

"She's…what?"

Laura smiled smugly. "Our Boy Wonder is all legs you know; I imagine it's been frightfully snug for poor Jean."

"How do you know all this?"

" I pay attention. Really Robbie, sometimes I think I should be the detective and you the pathologist."

Lewis ignored this. "Does anyone else know?"

"Only Lizzie. She found a train ticket receipt awhile ago and quickly put two and two."

"She certainly kept that quiet."

" It wasn't her secret to tell," Laura reminded him.

" And James? Why didn't _he_ tell me?"

"Probably, because he thought you'd disapprove." The tone in Laura's voice suggested that she was wondering the same thing.

"I…I well." Lewis couldn't honestly say he fully approved _yet_ ; this was too much for him to process. "But why would that matter?"

Laura sighed in exasperation. "Because _your_ opinion still matters more than anyone else in the world."

"So…I…he'd…"

"…Sacrifice his own happiness if he found out you disapproved?" Hobson snapped. "Yes, I genuinely think he would."

"But I'd never ask…"

"I know." She placed a comforting hand on his arm. "But the thing is, you wouldn't _have to._ James would do it all on his own. We both know he has a bit of a tendency toward emotional self-sabotage."

Lewis gave a grim nod of agreement. "So what do you want me to do about it?"

" Do? I don't see that you have to _do_ anything. I'm not even asking you to approve—so long as you keep personal feelings private." Laura ran a finger through her hair. "Just… _don't_ ruin this for him, and moreover, don't let him ruin it for himself." There was an unspoken ' _or else'_ in her tone.

Lewis glanced over and saw that Hathaway had joined Innocent on the sofa. Ten minutes ago, Robbie doubted very much he would've noticed anything unusual in their dynamic.

But now, he could see that there was something there after all. A quiet intimacy in their body language.

"And they're happy, really?" Lewis asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

"Happier than they've been in years."

Suddenly aware that Lewis was watching, Hathaway gave a remarkable impression of a rabbit caught in the headlights. Lewis gave a warm, encouraging nod, and Hathaway immediately responded with a relieved, radiant smile.


End file.
